


A Life Without Regret

by carryokee



Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 10:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryokee/pseuds/carryokee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will, Sonny, and a bed.  Times three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life Without Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: second person POV, nonlinear timeline

**i.**

You register three separate things as you gradually lose consciousness, each one certain to become a sense memory later, something that will remind you of this moment, the pain of it, the fear, the taste of the bile rising in the back of your throat and the slow, unstoppable tunneling of your vision.

The puddle of black coffee creeping across the floor towards your feet, shards of its broken mug scattered through it like flotsam. You’d been holding the cup until you couldn’t anymore, until the pain loosened your grip and it dropped, shattering, not even making a sound, or at least you didn’t hear it.

The song playing through the speakers, Ho Hey by The Lumineers. You’d been singing along to the chorus under your breath, I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweetheart, the words reminding you of Will, of the two of you together, just like they always did.

The scent of Andrea’s perfume as she grips your arm, green eyes wide with panic, her lips forming words you see more than hear. Are you okay? Sonny? Sonny? When you don’t respond – you can’t get your mouth to work right through the pain - she looks up and says, Someone call 911.

“Will,” you manage, the name barely vibrating the air around it enough to make a sound. You grasp the edge of Andrea’s apron, or try to, tugging on it as hard as you can. She looks at you, her face all you can see now that everything around it has faded to black. “Call Will.”

She nods, starts to say something, but you’re gone, completely inside the tunnel now, darkness dragging you down and away.

:::

The first person you see when you open your eyes isn’t the one you want. You try not to look disappointed, but frankly, you’re so groggy you don’t think you could control much of anything at this point, much less the fine motor skills required to school your expression into something less potentially hurtful.

“Mom.” Your own voice sounds foreign to you, thick and ragged, like you swallowed a mouthful of ground glass.

Her eyes are red from old tears and you watch as fresh ones well up and spill over, happy ones this time, residual fear still clinging to the edges of her expression. “Oh, honey,” she says, leaning over you, pressing her hands to your face and kissing your forehead. You feel comforted despite yourself, the memory of a thousand kisses just like it tumbling across your mind. “Honey, we were so worried.” She smiles at you, wiping at her eyes in that careful, practiced way that will keep her mascara from smudging, beautiful in her motherly concern.

You want to see Will, though. No one else. You feel vaguely guilty that the presence of your own mother isn’t enough for you, but it isn’t, and you’re too tired to care. You can feel yourself slipping away again, being pulled under, back below the surface, and you need to see him before you go. You need to tell him you’re okay, not to worry, that you love him. You need to see him smile at you.

“Where’s Will?”

You see it then, the click of realization in her eyes. She knows she’s not the one you want to see right now. Hurt flares in her eyes, but then it’s gone, and if you didn’t know her as well as you do, you probably wouldn’t have seen it at all. She lives for you, you know she does. You and your brothers, your dad, you’re her world, and you know that seeing you like this is hard for her. But your world is somewhere beyond that door and you want him here, right next to you, exactly where he belongs.

“Mom, please,” you say. “I need to see him.”

She nods and squeezes your hand. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll go get him.” She walks to the door and opens it halfway, turning back to look at you. “I love you.”

You’ve hurt her, you know you have, but you can at least give her this. “I love you, too, Mom.”

She smiles at you before she turns to leave, the door clicking shut behind her.

:::

Will’s been crying, too. You see it the moment he bursts into the room and looks at you. It’s been hours since he has, you think, but the aftereffects still linger in his eyes and on his face. You’ve seen him cry before, too many times, and every time it breaks you a little. He’s always felt things too deeply and you’ve never been quite able to protect him from that. All you’ve ever wanted is to make him happy and here you’ve gone and made him cry again.

“Oh, my god. Sonny,” he says, and he’s next to you in two steps, his fingers in yours, his other hand against your cheek. He’s breathing against your lips and you can smell burned coffee and Double Mint gum. His thumb drags gently back and forth across your skin and the smile he gives you reminds you of home, of everything that matters, of all the things you nearly lost once and vow never to be without again.

“I’m sorry,” you say, because you are, more than you can say. You’re sorry for being stubborn. You’re sorry for almost leaving him. But most of all, you’re sorry for the things you said, the way you left things the morning before you collapsed. You’d been over your anger for hours already by the time it happened and you should’ve called him, but you didn’t. Stupid, stupid.

“For what?” He smoothes back your hair, letting his fingers linger in it just like a thousand times before. It hasn’t been that long since he’s done that, but it feels like forever to you.

You squeeze his hand as best you can, though there’s very little power behind it. There’s so much more you want to say, but you settle on, “For everything.”

“Everything?” he says. “Sonny, _Here Comes Honey Boo Boo_ isn’t your fault.” He winks at you and smiles again. You try to laugh, but you can’t, wincing instead at the feel of the stitches pulling against your skin.

Will’s face morphs into concern in an instant, every last scrap of relief vanishing from his eyes. “Are you alright?” He touches your face again, pressing his fingertips into your skin as he looks at you, panic in his eyes. “I’ll go get Aunt Kayla.”

He starts to pull away, but you hold on, stopping him, trying to keep him close. “No, don’t,” you say.

“Sonny, you’re in pain.”

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

He gives you a look that under other circumstances would probably result in nudity but right now just makes you smile. “Baby, I’m fine. Really.” You squeeze his fingers. “All I need right now is you.”

Will rolls his eyes, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his mouth, and you know you’ve won him over. He gestures to all the medical equipment around your bed. “And an IV drip, a heart monitor, and a nurse call button.”

You smile at him. You’re exhausted, but you’re fighting against sleep just so you can keep looking at him. “Well,” you say, “mostly what I need right now is you.”

Will bites his lip at that, his smile suddenly shy. He steps back towards you and leans his elbows on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Meeting your eyes, he says softly, “And all I need is for you to get better.” He kisses you, then pulls away. “So promise me you will.”

You lift your free hand and draw an X over your heart. “I promise.”

“Good.” He kisses you again, then stands up. “I’ll leave you alone now. Because the sooner you get back to sleep, the sooner you can come home.” He tries to pull away again.

But you still won’t let go of him. “Don’t go.”

There’s that smile again, the one you can’t get enough of. It’s one of your favorite things in the world. “What? You want me to tell you a story?”

You nod, smiling back at him. Anything to keep him here with you.

“Okay,” he says, reaching for the chair next to the bed.

“No,” you say. You scoot over, suppressing another wince, and pat the empty slice of bed beside you.

He looks at the bed, then at you, and gives you a look, eyebrows reaching towards his hairline. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

You grin at him. “It’s the best idea ever in the history of ideas, trust me.” You pat the bed again. “Now come on.”

Will shakes his head and squints at you. “Once you’re asleep, I’m sneaking out and telling Aunt Kayla to adjust your pain meds, ’cause you’re a little loopy.”

“Uh-uh,” you say, shaking your head. “Once you’re in my bed, I’m never letting you leave.”

He laughs, reaching out to brush his thumb across your lips. “Let’s save that sentiment for a different bed, okay? ’Cause I don’t plan on staying here forever. I have plans for us after you get out of here.”

“Oh, yeah?” you ask, watching as he toes off his shoes.

“Yeah,” he says, pulling back the blanket and climbing in beside you. The heat of his body immediately relaxes you and you slowly let out your breath as he snuggles against you, carefully avoiding your IV. Resting his head on the pillow next to yours, he drapes his arm across your chest, his fingertips playing lightly across your arm. You can feel his breath against the side of your neck, slow and even, and close your eyes.

“Can’t wait,” you murmur.

You’re nearly asleep when you hear him say softly, “Once upon a time, there was a boy named Sonny who met a boy named Will and taught him what it really means to be loved. And they lived happily ever after. The end.”

You turn your head to meet his eyes and see him smiling at you.

The last thing you remember before falling asleep is the press of Will’s lips against yours.

**ii.**

You’re just getting to your car when your phone buzzes.

_where r u?_

You text back, _running late, sorry. be there in 20. start looking without me._

When you arrive at the mattress store, the last thing you expect to see is your boyfriend lying on top of a queen-sized TempurPedic next to another man. And laughing. Your mind automatically calculates the distance between the two of them as you get closer: less than two feet. Closer to a foot and half, really. Close enough to be on a first-name basis, at least.

“Hey, babe,” you say a little too loudly as you approach. You rarely call Will ‘babe’ in public, but it just kinda slips out, laying itself out there like a vocal tattoo. You wince a little at the sound of your voice, but no one else seems to notice.

Will looks up at you, an easy smile lighting his face. “Sonny!” he says, sitting up and scooting off the bed. He walks over and puts his arm around you, kissing you on the cheek, his eyes completely devoid of guile. You hate yourself a little for the thin rope of jealousy that’s managed to coil itself around your chest, but you can’t help it. Will thinks it’s funny, actually, but it’s a part of your character you’re not particularly proud of. “Brody was just explaining the pros and cons of this mattress to me.”

I’ll bet he was, you think. You look at Brody, who’s now standing in front of you, displaying his professional smile. He’s about your height, with dark blond hair just a little too perfectly disheveled and green eyes that meet yours without blinking. The nametag over his right pocket says BRODY ☺. The smiley face is a nice touch. 

“Oh, yeah?” you say, smiling tightly at Will.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s really comfy, too. You should try it.”

You nod. “And how many other mattresses has Brody shown you?”

Will’s eyes narrow slightly, the corners of his mouth barely turning up. Busted, you think. You suck at concealment. Or maybe Will just knows you that well.

“Just this one,” he says, sweetly. “We were waiting for you.”

Brody speaks up for the first time. He has a deep-ish voice, like a tenor. You hate the sound of it already. “Will here was telling me that you two just moved into a new place.” He’s smiling again, showing off a large percentage of his perfect teeth. Veneers, you think. Gotta be.

You meet his eyes and try not to growl. “Yes, we did,” you tell him. And you will never be invited. Ever.

“Well, congrats,” he says. Congrats. You hate it when people say that. Okay, you hate it when _he_ says that. Whatever.

“Thank you.” You want to just grab Will’s hand and drag him out of there, take him somewhere else, to A Place Without Brody, but you’ve already tipped your hand to Will (and probably the rest of the universe), so you stay where you are, feeling the burn of your irrational jealousy just beneath your skin.

“Anyway,” Brody continues, “as I was telling Will, this particular mattress is one of our most popular models and we only have one queen size left in stock. If you want it, we can have it delivered as early as tomorrow after—”

“I’d like to see another one, please,” you say. Will shifts beside you, his shoulder bumping yours.

Brody’s eyes go wide. “Of course,” he says, his smile not even faltering. He motions with his arm, taking a step towards the Serta section. “Over here we—”

“I’d like to just look around for a while,” you say, grabbing Will’s hand. You smile. “If you don’t mind.”

Brody’s brow creases. “Uh, sure,” he says. “Just let me know if you have any questions.”

“Sure thing,” you say. “Brody.” You drag Will away, off towards the Sleep Number beds. He follows silently after you, offering no resistance. But when you finally stop and pretend to be immersed in the wonders of modern sleep technology, you can hear him laughing beside you.

You look over at him, feeling suddenly sheepish. “I know, I know,” you say. “I’m an idiot.” You close your eyes, unable to meet his.

“Dude, I thought for a second there you were gonna drop trou and pee on me.”

Your eyes fly open that. He’s grinning at you. You make a face. “Gross.”

“Or maybe I should just wear a t-shirt whenever we go out that says ‘Property of Sonny Kiriakis.’”

You feel yourself smile, reaching out to pluck at the front of his shirt. “T-shirts wear out,” you say, your smile widening. “But tattoos are forever.” You run the tip of your finger along the inside of his left arm. “Right about here would be perfect, I think.”

His smile slowly fades into a look of exasperated affection and he leans in to kiss you, sliding his fingers through your hair. “You know you have nothing to worry about, right?” he says as he pulls away.

You nod. “I know.” You close your fingers in his shirt, feeling the fabric bunch against your palm. “I do know that.” And you’re not always like this, you’re not. You trust Will implicitly, it’s just that sometimes—

“He laid down on the bed of his own volition. I didn’t invite him,” Will says, getting right to the heart of it. He touches your face and smiles softly. “I knew he was flirting with me. And I should’ve gotten up the second he laid down. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

You just stand there looking at him, holding his eyes as the seconds tick by. You never thought you could ever feel this way about another person, that you could just look at someone and know that if you ever lost them, half your life would be gone. It used to scare you sometimes how much you loved him. After watching your parents hurt each other over and over again growing up, you told yourself you never wanted to need someone that much. But you do. You need him. He’s a part of you now, as vital to you as your own breath, and there’s no going back from that, there’s no undoing it.

You smile. “What kind of name is Brody, anyway?”

He laughs and pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you. You follow suit, holding him close, your eyes falling shut at the contact. Sometimes you think you could just hold him like this forever, feeling the thump of his heart against your chest.

After a moment, Will pulls away and hops onto the nearest mattress, crawling backwards until he’s all the way on it and lying flat on his back with his arms splayed out to his sides. Then, propping himself up on his elbows, he meets your eyes and smiles, curling his finger at you. 

“Come ’ere, loverboy,” he says, pitching his voice a little higher.

Trying and failing to stifle a smile, you stay right where you are, waiting for Will’s expected response. It comes a few seconds later.

“Oh, loverboy!”

As you climb onto the mattress beside him with a grin, you think to yourself that 80s movie night may just be Will’s best idea ever.

**iii.**

The first time you trace the line of Will’s hipbone with the tip of your tongue, you’re hooked. The way he responds – that soft moan from deep in his throat, the little tremors beneath his skin like low voltage electricity – is like a shot of the world’s best drug slipping through your bloodstream at eight thousand miles a second. You’re high with it, with him, with his sounds, his smell, his taste. 

He’s under you, completely naked, for the first time ever, moving under your hands, breathing your name. You can hardly believe that it’s happening, that you’re here with him like this finally, all your patience paying off in the best possible way, the culmination of everything you’ve barely let yourself think about in the last year. You’d think you were dreaming except no dream could be this good, nothing your subconscious imagination could conjure up could ever be better than this. You’re taking your time, learning every inch of him, cataloguing his responses for future use.

He’s here and he wants you. The look in his eyes is like your kryptonite and the source of your strength all in one. You’d do anything for him as long as you can have this for the rest of your life, as long as he never stopped looking at you like you’re all he’ll ever need.

“Sonny,” he says, the sound of your name on his tongue the most beautiful sound in the world. “Sonny, I want…” He doesn’t finish, the rest of the thought dying on a breath, but when you look up at him, you know it’s there, lurking behind his eyes.

“What?” you ask him.

He shakes his head, his eyes hazy with arousal, a blush slowly reddening his cheeks.

Crawling up his body, you dip your head to capture his mouth, tasting his tongue, pushing your hand through his sweaty hair. You feel his fingers in your own hair, closing and holding on, pulling you closer, his other hand pressing into your back. You slide your mouth from his, trailing your lips across his skin to his ear.

“Tell me what you want,” you whisper. “Anything at all.”

His breath stutters. You can feel it against your neck. His fingers loosen in your hair as he turns his head, his nose bumping your cheek. You lift your head to look at him, meeting his eyes. He’s looking right at you without blinking, his gaze slipping to your mouth and back again as he bites his lip. His blush is still visible, pinking his skin, and you touch your fingers to it.

“I want you to suck me,” he says.

You close your eyes at the words, the mere sound of them in his voice, urgent and unsure, going straight to your cock. You think if he even moves right now, you’ll come, and you’re not ready for that, not yet. You kiss his cheek, giving yourself a moment to regain your composure. When you open your eyes, he’s still looking at you, barely breathing.

You brush your thumb across his lips and smile. “Lie still.”

He pushes out a breath, forcing his body to still, his hands falling to the sheets and holding on, his eyes falling closed. He looks so beautiful like this, so perfect. Better than anything you’ve ever had. You want to remember this moment, every last detail of it. You never want to forget the way he looks right now as he waits for your mouth.

You kiss a trail down his neck, licking across his pulse, then continue down his chest, circling each of his nipples with your tongue before gently sucking them. You hear the sound of the sheets bunching in Will’s fists and smile against his skin, nipping at him with the edges of your teeth and watching his muscles jump. You drag your tongue down his center line, dipping it into his navel and out again, over and over, a promise of things to come.

He sputters out your name and you lift your eyes to look at him. His head’s thrown back, the point of his chin and the long expanse of his neck all you can see, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the skin of his throat. The tip of his erection bumps the underside of your jaw. It’s the first time you’ve touched it at all and you feel his body jerk at the contact. You can see he’s crawling out of his skin and you know he probably won’t last, that you’ll barely get your mouth on him before he comes. But it doesn’t matter because you want this as much as he does. He asked you for this and you want to give it to him and even if it’s over in a few seconds, you have forever to make it better for him, forever to get it right.

You settle on the bed beside him, your legs tucked underneath you, and curl your hand around his cock. He lets out a cry at the touch and you hear his teeth click shut. You look at his face. His eyes are squeezed shut and his jaw is clenched, the muscle knotting at the joint. You start to move your hand, slowly stroking him, and listen to the way his breaths stutter raggedly past his lips.

“Will, look at me.” You don’t stop moving your hand.

He opens his eyes with effort and looks at you across the length of his own body. His pupils are blown wide, eyes dark with arousal. He’s never looked more beautiful.

“I’m gonna put my mouth on you now,” you tell him, watching his eyes as they dart to your lips and back. You will never not find that sexy. “I know you’re close already. If you want to come, then come. Don’t try to hold back, okay?”

He just looks at you, his belly stuttering with each shallow breath. It’s his only response and you’re not even sure he heard you.

You press your other hand against his chest, trying to focus him. “Did you hear me? As soon as I put my mouth on you, come if you have to.”

He nods, a single quick jerk of his head, beyond words now.

“Good,” you say.

You leave your hand pressed against him, another point of contact, his skin hot and slick against your palm. Licking your lips, you lean down and close your mouth around him, your own mouth watering at the salty bitter taste of him. He makes a sound like a growl deep in his chest, the sound of it rumbling against your hand. You close your eyes and suddenly there’s nothing else but this, but him and you and this bed, nothing else but the weight of him against your tongue and the burn of your own arousal.

He’s breathing through his teeth, fighting against his orgasm despite what you told him. You swirl your tongue around him and pull your hand away, pushing down lower, taking more of him in. The head of his cock bumps against your soft palate and you hum at the sensation. You do it again, then a third time, taking a little more of him in each time until he’s in as far as you can take. You hollow your cheeks, pulling back slowly, the muscles of his belly constricting beneath your hand.

You’re sliding your mouth down again, your fingertips barely brushing over his balls, when he comes with what almost sounds like a sob. He comes and comes and you swallow it all, only pulling off when you feel him start to soften. You slide up next to him, pressing your bodies together, slotting your fingers into the spaces between his ribs.

He’s trying to catch his breath, one arm thrown over his eyes, mouth soft and slack. You look at the side of his face, the taste of him clinging to the back of your tongue. He’s trembling.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, tightening your arm around him, pressing your lips to his jaw.

His breathing slows gradually and after a few moments, he pulls his arm away and turns his head to look at you. You search his eyes for any trace of regret and find only contentment.

He smiles at you. “I want to kiss you now,” he says.

You shake your head. It’s too soon, you think. Too much. Blowjobs are one thing, but post-blowjob kissing is something else. More intimate somehow.

You start to roll away. “Let me just go brush my teeth.”

His fingers close around your wrist. “Sonny.”

You look at him. He looks back. The blue of his eyes reminds you of the Aegean Sea in summer.

“Kiss me,” he says. “Now.”

So you do.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Shane Mack song "Clean."


End file.
